My Family, by Briefs Trunks
by Sadie Dragonfire
Summary: Trunks writes an essay about his family...much to the disbelief of a certain teacher. WARNING: mentions of Yaoi and Yuri
1. My Family

**Disclaimer:** Seeing as I am neither a Japanese man, nor a company specializing in the production of anime, these characters don't belong to me. No money made, spent, or rolled in naked.   
**Warning:** **Yaoi** (Boys liking boys), **yuri** (Girls liking girls), third grade, threesomes, OOC, weird humor, and suggestions of violence to closed-minded schoolteachers (please note that in real life, I have nothing but respect for teachers, close-minded or otherwise) No beta. 

**Summary:** Trunks writes an essay, Bulma drinks hot chocolate, Vegeta is afraid five-year-olds, and Yamcha has fleas. 

** Pairing(s):** The short list, or the long one? 

Comments, critisim, and flames always apperciated 

_________________ 

Trunks deftly finished the last of his long division problems and turned the worksheet over, moving it to the corner of his desk just like his teacher had asked. Then, he pulled out a fresh piece of paper and began calculating the dimensions of his mother's newly proposed motorbike design, doing an estimation of how it would affect its forward velocity and aerodynamic properties. He played with the numbers a while and produced several decent looking equations. He would have to compare notes with his mother later. 

He put the paper safely in his bag and looked around to discover that most of his classmates were only half done with their work. At that point, he seriously considered beating his head against the desk in hopes the pain would help dull the overwhelming boredom, but he doubted the flimsy wooden thing could withstand such abuse. 

Trunks had faced many evils in his life----his father being one of them---but none of them could compare to the sheer cruelty that was third grade. 

His only consolation was that his best friend had to endure the suffering with him. Goten was four doors down from Trunks' classroom, in the middle of a reading lesson with the rest of the second graders. If Trunks concentrated, he could feel Goten resisting the urge to gouge his eyes out as the class read another scintillating paragraph on Little Monster's cooking skills. 

Finally, the teacher stood from his desk and announced the end of the math lesson. Trunks passed forward his worksheet with the rest of the class and stared at his teacher with the glazed eyes of the mind numb. 

The teacher placed the stack of gathered papers on his desk and picked up a fresh one. "Today's writing lesson is going to be an essay about your family," he explained, passing out the new papers. "Write about your parents, where they work, what they do there, what they like to do for fun. Like going to the movies or reading books. Tell me how many brothers and sisters you have." 

"What if you don't have any brothers or sisters?" asked a boy with dirt smeared across his nose. 

"Then don't tell me about them," said the teacher patiently, "I want to know about the family you do have. Maybe you can tell me about your favorite things to do with your family, like going to the park or the zoo." 

"But I don't live with my parents," said one of the girls "My aunt and uncle to take care of me." 

"So tell me about your aunt and uncle. Not everyone has the same type of family. Some children live with their grandparents or foster parents. Some families are very large, while others are really small. I want to know about your family and the people in it." 

Trunks accepted the assignment sheet with something approaching excitement. He liked talking about his family. Especially with the recent changes. The rules for the assignment were fairly straightforward; use complete sentences, your best handwriting, and make it at least one page long. Standard. 

So, you want to know about *my* family? 

With a grin the bordered on the sadistic, Trunks picked up his pencil and began to write. 

___________________ 

Bulma hummed along with the radio and sipped hot cocoa as she read her e-mails for the day. At least ten were from Capsule Corp's primary research team, most of them contradictory. There had been some sort of rivalry going on between the team's leading scientists for sometime now, and while Bulma knew she should do something to put an end to it, she frankly found the various ways they were trying to undermine each other's authority vastly entertaining. The pictures of Dr. Omaru with glowing neon pink hair were going to enjoy a special spot in her picture album for years to come. 

The next twenty messages ranged from advertisements for penis enlargement to love letters from some of Capsule Corps less. . .stable clientele. She deleted them all without a second thought. 

The twenty-first message displayed an all too familiar address. 

"Damnit Trunks, what have you done this time?" Bulma muttered, opening the e-mail from Trunks and Goten's Elementary School. 

She scanned through it, expecting more of the same. Trunks had gotten better about his attitude problem and having Goten around helped to cut down on the fights, but that didn't stop the occasional boredom-induced fits of chaos. If she weren't so hell bent on raising him to be a successful, socially adjusted human adult---emphasize the human---she would throw him to Vegeta with orders to not bring him back until he was old enough to have a credit card. 

About halfway through the message, Bulma realized that it wasn't the standard note-from-the-teacher. For one thing, it was far too long and flowery. Trunks' teachers had given up on that; their messages usually consisted of three lines amounting too "your son is a dick, at least try to do something about it". 

For another, it seemed to be referring to some assignment Trunks had turned in. Schoolwork was the one area where Trunks didn't screw around. It was a source of pride for him; everything he did was perfect and to the letter. The possibility that he had turned in something inappropriate did not sit well with her. 

It had to be from the new teacher that Trunks had gotten mid-school year when the old one went on maternity leave, she decided. Karoushi wasn't it? Maybe he just wasn't used to the high quality of Trunks' schoolwork. It was probably nothing. 

Bulma dithered for a while. Finally, she agreed to a parent-teacher meeting instead of writing the usual politely worded "fuck you". Once that was sent and the original e-mail printing, she logged into the school database and checked over Karoushi's schedule until she found an open Tuesday afternoon. The teacher himself had to be online because she received a date-confirmation only a few minutes after requesting that day for the meeting. 

That done, Bulma heartlessly left the rest of the mail for her secretary to deal with, gathered up the print-out, and went to check up on the rest of her family. 

Everyone was in the living room, watching a movie. Or at least part of a movie as Vegeta had full control of the remote and kept on rewinding the scene where the aliens blow-up Chikyuu's major cities. 

Bulma paused in the doorway to take in the sight. 

Goten and chibi Trunks lay on their bellies on the floor, staring up the TV screen with matching expressions of slack jawed awe. Near them, Gohan was sprawled across the prone form of Mirai Trunks with his hands buried in his lover's shoulder length hair. The future incarnation of her son was smiling in sleepy bliss at the attention. Bulma despaired of ever again getting his damn hair to a decent length. 

Vegeta was seated in one corner of the massive couch, a look of intense satisfaction on his face from watching human cities go up in balls of fiery death. Or from having Yamcha face down in his lap. It was hard to tell. Goku sat on the other end of the couch with Yamcha's feet on his thighs, diligently working his way through a bowl of popcorn. Lastly, Chichi was curled up in the armchair, eyeing Vegeta as if seriously considering her chances of survival if she tried to take the remote from him. 

Bulma stepped further into the room and said in her best parental voice, "Trunks? Care to explain this?" 

Both of her sons looked up at the sound of their name, but it was Trunks the younger who paled at the sight of the paper she held before her. 

"I didn't do anything, I swear!" he yelped automatically, to which the less mature members of the group---everyone but Chichi and the unconscious Yamcha---replied with disbelieving jeers. Trunks looked annoyed. 

"That'll be the day," Vegeta added with grim amusement as he triggered the rewind button yet again, making Chichi growl like a bear with a bee up its ass. Everyone else snickered, distracted from the movie by this latest drama. 

Goten rolled over onto his side. "Its true, Bulma-kaachan. We've been really good all week." The bright innocence of his voice and expression would have fooled a priest. Gohan let out a surprisingly bitter "Ha!" that had Goten smiling even more sweetly. 

"It's better to come clean to me now, you know," Bulma said jauntily, "It'll only be worse for you if I have to find out about it from the teacher." 

Trunks shook his head stubbornly. "I haven't gotten into any fights or arguments with the teacher or pulled any pranks---at school," he clarified, when Vegeta and Goku yelled in protest, "For a really long time. I mean it." 

Bulma was perfectly aware that a 'really long time' was probably no more than a week, if that. She sighed and knelt on the floor in front of him. "Trunks, this note isn't about your behavior. It's about something you gave to the teacher. Did you write something unacceptable for an assignment?" 

More intense head shaking. "No! I followed all the directions for everything and didn't use any bad language or anything like that. It's all too easy to mess up on, anyway." A hint of disgust entered his tone. 

"Well, I've set up an appointment with the teacher for next Tuesday, so we can talk to him about it then," Bulma said, "Don't worry...*I'll* get this problem straightened out." The sudden fierceness of her voice made Trunks smirk in vicious pleasure. 

"I think I'll come along too," Chichi said, as Bulma walked over to join her in the armchair. "For emotional support, if nothing else. And so will Vegeta and Goku." 

"What?" demanded Vegeta flatly, glaring at her while Goku simply shrugged in acceptance. He was used to be dragged into things. 

"He's your son too," said Chichi coldly, "You can't just leave Bulma to do all the work." 

"What the boy does outside this house is of no concern to me." 

"He's not some toys you can toss aside when you're done with him!" 

Vegeta bared his teeth. "If he needs to be punished, then I will punish him. I don't need to listen to some human idiot drone on about what my son has been doing in that mad house you call an education center." 

Vegeta had been leery about Trunks' school ever since the time he was mauled by a horde of barbarian kindergarteners. Goku had been forced to wade into the kid pile at great risk to himself and free the snot and glitter smeared Saiyajin. Exactly why a bunch of human children found the Saiyajin no Ouji so appealing was beyond Bulma's ken, but they'd certainly been tenacious in their adoration of him. Everyone---secretly---suspected that he'd been quite traumatized by the event. 

"Vegeta?" Bulma chimed sweetly, resting her head on Chichi's shoulder, "You're going." 

Vegeta stared at her a while before turning back to the movie with a terse "Fine." 

"Us too," said Mirai Trunks suddenly, volunteering himself and Gohan in usual fashion. 

"Lets all go," Yamcha spoke up, lifting his head and rubbing at his eyes, "We can always go for a picnic and a swim afterwards. Make a day of it." He smiled warmly up at Vegeta who stroked a coarse thumb over his cheek. 

The younger boys and Goku cheered at the suggestion. Bulma looked thoughtfully at Chichi who shrugged. "Sure, why not?" 

________________________________ 

Those who could fly did so, while those who couldn't took an aircar over to the school. The entire traveling circus reached the mostly empty parking lot together and proceeded to scare the birds with a yelling match. Getting Vegeta to the school turned out a great deal easier than getting him inside of it. They spent some time failing to convince him that the 'heathen alien spawn' were gone for the day before Yamcha and Goku took him aside to have a whispered conference. 

After the startled declaration of "a horse saddle?" that had Yamcha nodding and Goku beaming, Vegeta walked back to the two women much more complacent. Once that had been settled, another argument arose as to who *wasn't* going in to the see the teacher. Most everyone had some reason or other for wanting to be apart of the meeting. Despite this, Bulma and Chichi were firm and in the end they left the rest of the family with the car (and its army-sized stock of picnic supplies) while they and Vegeta entered the school. 

Karoushi-sensei was waiting for them in the hall outside of his classroom. 

"Thank you for coming," he said, bowing respectfully, "I am Karoushi Desuku, very pleased to meet you." He was an unremarkable man; standing at average height, with dark hair and serious features on an otherwise young face. 

"Briefs Bulma. Thank you for making the time to see us," Bulma said just as politely, though her bow wasn't as deep as his. "This is my partner Son Chichi and Trunks' father, Vegeta." Chichi dipped her torso at being introduced, but Vegeta just glared at the man, arms folded over his spandex clad chest. 

Karoushi-sensei hesitated before bowing, but it was hard to say whether it was in surprise over Vegeta's rudeness or confusion over Bulma's introductions. He recovered his composure quickly and invited them into the classroom. 

"Please, take a seat." He motioned over to the two cafeteria chairs that were pulled up in front of his cluttered desk. He looked uncertainly at Vegeta. "I'm sorry Mr. Briefs, if I had known there were going to be three of you, I would have brought another chair." 

"Vegeta." 

"Pardon?" 

"You will call me 'Vegeta'," he said stone-faced, the tone of his voice making it clear that this was an order not a pleasantry, "The woman and I are not married." 

"Hey, I have a name, use it," Bulma sing-songed playfully. Vegeta snorted and came to stand next to her chair, looking very much like some looming bodyguard. Which was, really, why Bulma was so fond of dragging him around with her. Especially to board meetings. She smiled at the thought and folded her hands in her lap. 

Karoushi started at the sudden shattering of his misconception. "Oh. Ah...oh." He straightened his clothes nervously and looked around on his desk, as if trying to remember what to do next. 

Nearing the end of her terminally short patience, Chichi proclaimed loudly, "Since we all know what to call each other now, let's get on with the meeting!" She fixed her razor sharp gaze on the teacher. 

"You!" she said so forcefully he actually jumped, "What's this about Trunks school assignment?" 

"Um, y-yes, the essay." Swallowing a few times, Karoushi sat down his own wheeled chair and shifted through the papers on his desk before unearthing a stabled set. "The---ah, requirements for the uh, assignment were for Trunks to write an essay about his family." Karoushi regained his former confidence as he spoke. "The essay was supposed to be factual, but Trunks' essay, as you will see, is obviously make-believe." 

He offered up the papers and Bulma leaned forward to take them. The front page was filled with neat, exacting handwriting. Across the top it read "My Family, by Briefs Trunks". On the line below that, Bulma was surprised to recognize the curving, interlocking letters of High Saiyajin-go. She looked up to Vegeta for translation. 

"Son of Vegeta no Ouji of the Royal House of Vegetasei," he said softly into her ear, the smug pride in his voice unmistakable. 

Well, that just made his day, Bulma thought with her own burst of pleasure. Listening in, Chichi made a happy 'awww' and winked at Bulma. 

Oblivious to the significance of the last Prince of the Saiyajin being able to write in his native tongue, Karoushi continued on blithely. "I was surprised by the scribbles"---Vegeta's head snapped up---"he drew near the top, as I've never known Trunks to doodle on his work, but that's not what really worries me. 

"After I had the chance to review his work, I spoke privately with Trunks to see if he had understood the nature of the assignment. Most children like to tell stories, or exaggerate to make themselves look more interesting, so I wanted to make clear that the point of this essay was to be truthful. Trunks, however, was very insistent that everything in his paper *was* the truth. It is possible that he was lying for the sake of attention, but it left me was some strong concerns as to how he perceives reality. I was hoping that together we could. . ." he trailed off, going pale. 

Vegeta was glaring at him. It was a glare that had been known to cause lesser beings to drop dead where they stood. Not out of fear so much as the conviction that they were going to die anyway and really, this was the least painful way to go about it. 

Karoushi-sensei whimpered low in his throat and clutched at the arms of his chairs. "P-please ta-take a minute to, to, ah, read the ah ah. . ." He made a frantic motion with his hands, as if trying to pluck the word from wherever it was hiding. "Essay! The essay. Please." 

Under the pretext of reading the paper with her, Chichi leaned closer to Bulma and whispered, "Is this heading where I think it is?" 

Bulma's mouth tightened slightly. "I wouldn't put money against it," she said, focusing on the writing in front of her. 

_____________ 

My Family, by Briefs Trunks  
Son of Vegeta no Ouji of the Royal House of Vegetasei 

I live with my family at the Capsule Corporation head quarters in Satan City. Our house is huge, which is good because there is a lot of us and we need the space. The walls are all soundproofed, too. This is even better. 

My mother, Bulma, is the president of Capsule Corp. and rules with an iron fist. Many of the old executives and staff were stealing from the company when my grandfather ran it, but mom completely cleaned house. Our profit margin has risen by over 20% and our productivity is twice what it was. 

Mom can be a little dramatic sometimes. Especially when I blow something up or stay out all week training or terrorize the city. Otherwise, she's really fun to be around. She lets me help out with her inventions, tells the best stories, and even taught me how to drive a tank and use firearms. I asked her one time if she ever thought about ruling the world. She laughed and said "I already do." 

My father is Vegeta no Ouji, one of the two survivors of a race of aliens called Saiyajin. They were an incredibly powerful people and being a half-breed, I share that power. Papa is a prince and would have been king of his home world if some tyrant hadn't fried the place. He originally came to Chikyuu to destroy it, but Goku, another Saiyajin and my best friend Goten's father, kicked him around until he changed his mind. 

Papa is very strong and smart and focused. Nothing is beyond his capabilities. He's a little scary, too. The one time papa got a telemarketer call he tracked down the source and destroyed the building. He even let me and Goten come along. It was great fun. 

He had a hard time growing up, so he's not very good at saying what he means, but I've learned to hear him anyways. And I know that's he is a lot happier now that he's gotten together with Yamacha and Goku. 

Way back before I was born, Yamcha was my mother's boyfriend. That didn't last, obviously, but they stayed close. A couple years ago, Yamcha lost his apartment and came to stay at Capsule Corp. for a while. He's kind of flighty and downright annoying at times, but for the most part he's just. . .nice. For some reason, my dad started following him around the complex. It when on for weeks, until papa cornered him in the gym and several hours later, they came out half-naked and covered in bite marks. The next day, Yamcha moved into papa's rooms and hasn't stopped smiling since. 

Goku, like I mention earlier, is the other full-blooded Saiyajin and he and papa have known each other since forever. Papa has spent most of that time trying to turn Goku into a greasy smear on the ground. Which is kind of useless, because Goku's died a couple times already and that hasn't stopped him yet. He is the most powerful person in the universe (several gods have told us so) and has saved the world countless times. He's also an idiot. 

Not long after he came back to life this last time, his wife, Chichi, fell in love with my mom and they decided to go steady. Goku didn't care much about losing a wife, but he threw all kinds of fits over losing a cook. Cooks after all, should be worshiped and Chichi is one of the best. So when Chichi moved in with us, Goku came with her. 

I don't know how he ended up with papa and Yamcha-tousan---Goten thinks he just walked in on them one night and never bothered to leave. 

Goten and Gohan are Goku's sons. Gohan is the oldest and totally cool expect for that weird superhero thing. He used to have his own apartment and a girlfriend. Then Mirai Trunks showed up. 

Mirai Tunks comes from an alternate future timeline, where everybody is dead. Genetically speaking, we are the same person but our personalities are completely different. He's also years older than me. Mirai is like my father in a lot of ways. I used to be so jealous of him because he and papa had this understanding that I wasn't a part of. Then Goku said how sad it was for Trunks growing up without a father, how hard it had been for him to lose everyone he cared about. I wasn't as jealous after that. 

And Mirai let me play with his sword. It was awesome. 

Anyway, Mirai Trunks had come to stay in our dimension permanently because his mother had died. When he and Gohan saw each other, they both got this strange, sparkly look in their eyes. They so obviously wanted to be boyfriends, but Gohan still had Videl and was all wishy-washy about dumping her. He can be such a dork sometimes. Trunks spent weeks going around sighing "Gohan-sensei" until papa snarled at him to either shut-up or do something about it. 

Gohan moved in a week later. Videl still hasn't gotten out of the psych ward. 

Goten is Gohan's little brother and the best person alive. Goten's a demi-saiyajin just like me, though not as strong of course, and I've known him since he was a baby. Even when he's not there, I can feel him in the back of my head, like a piece of light I always carry with me. He's warm and open and happy, and really wicked underneath it all. We get into all kinds of trouble together. Just yesterday we went flying all over the shopping center and Gohan nearly had a coronary trying to catch us. We love to do stuff like that. Fighting is neat too, but only when it's for practice. Fighting to save the world isn't nearly as much fun. 

My family is big and more than a little crazy. I couldn't ask for anything better. 

_____________________ 

Karoushi Desuku was a good teacher with set ideas about how things were supposed to be. He liked his job and had a strong understanding of books that talked about children. 

When reading Trunks' essay, Karoushi had been amused by the first paragraph, interested by the second, and wary of the third. By the fourth, he had stopped reading. 

Oh, he's eyes were still transmuting the words to his brain, but from there they were being routed straight into the 'bullshit' pile. Much like when he read fairy tales or articles on investment banking. He had, at most, caught one word in ten and so the entire point of the essay, not to mention some of the more interesting details, had completely passed him by. 

The blatant and overwhelming indications of homosexuality were almost worse, in his mind, than Trunks honestly claiming to be able to fly. 

Now he sat in his thinly padded chair and tried not to squirm under the sharp eyes of Trunks' father. After meeting the man, Karoushi could see why Trunks liked to imagine he was a prince. Vegeta held himself like royalty, the form fitting blue spandex he wore outlining thick muscles and somehow managing to look regal rather than unspeakably tacky. 

Of course, he also reminded Karoushi of the homicidal maniacs he saw on the news sometimes. There was something about his eyes. . . 

As if hearing Karoushi's thoughts, the shorter man began grinning. Karoushi squeezed his legs together and wondered if he could excuse himself to go to the bathroom. 

Wiping sweat from the back of his neck, he watched as Mrs. Son and Mrs. Briefs leaned close over the paper, foreheads nearly touching. They were quite close for business associates. No wonder Trunks was. . .confused, about the nature of their relationship. 

He found himself having hard time deciphering their reactions. Mrs. Briefs especially was looking far more teary-eyed than he'd expected. Most parents looked baffled or angry when presented with evidence that their child was lying and making up stories. He'd never dealt with parents who were, well, 'touched' by it. 

Just then, Mrs. Son let out a furious squawk. "What the hell? Why that pastel-haired little dirt-sucker!" 

Karoushi grimaced and raised his hand in preparation to calm the oncoming fit. Uh oh, he thought, she must have gotten to the part where. . . 

"He passed me off as the cook! Is that all I am to him?!" 

Karoushi blinked. 

Vegeta glanced out the window. "What's that noise?" 

_____________________ 

A bored Saiyajin is a deadly thing. 

Five bored Saiyajin had some of the more high-strung deities getting ready for the end of the universe. 

Yamcha sighed and leaned back against the car between Goku's parted thighs. Powerful hands were combing gently through his thick hair, the blunt fingertips massaging his scalp with each loving pet. Yamcha smiled slightly and knocked one Siayjin off his 'boredom count'. Playing---or grooming, or sniffing, or what Vegeta called it----with Yamcha's hair could easily keep Goku entertained for hours. Unless he got hungry. Then it was no contest. 

The other four were not so easily distracted. 

Gohan and Mirai Trunks had commandeered someone else's car and covered its hood with open books and diagrams filled with insanely complicated academic babble. Half of it was plans for future Capsule Corp. products, the rest was Gohan's schoolwork. The whole mess of it had been brought along in hopes of keeping them occupied. Trunks, however, was less of a reader and more of a doer. Once he'd gotten the general gist of the design schematics, he wanted to take them from the "in theory" stage to the "look at that sucker go" stage. Now he was eyeballing the other cars as a potential source of parts. Gohan, for his part, kept on nodding off in the middle of his reading. Every once and a while, Trunks would reach over and do something interesting to his tail to wake him up again. 

The small ones were the worst off; sitting side-by-side on a planter box and despondently carving dirty words into the asphalt. Yamcha gave them another ten minutes before they started blowing stuff up. 

"Uh oh," Goku said and plucked something from Yamcha's hair. "Puar needs to be flea dipped again." 

Yamcha twisted around in time to see Goku flick something from his fingers that screamed a tiny "eeeeee!" all the way down. 

"Oh, gross! Damnit, I warned him to keep up on that." 

Being of human-level intelligence, and a cat, Puar usually attended to his own hygienic needs, but he hated the complete soakage required for flea dips. Which would have been all right except that Puar's favorite place to sleep happened to be wrapped around Yamcha's head. Vegeta was trying to break this habit via wall therapy, but the shapeshifter was turning out to be surprisingly single-minded. 

"We can wash him tomorrow," Goku promised cheerfully, leaning closer to give Yamcha's hair a more through investigation. He paused, head titled to the side. "Hey, you hear that? Some kind of music. . . " 

Yamcha rolled his eyes. Goku never could keep track of other people's limitations. "No, of course not. What direction is it coming from?" 

Goku turned his head from one side to the other before pointing off to the right. Yamcha noticed that the kids had heard something too, lifting their heads almost in unison. 

"It's heading this way," Gohan said softly, letting his book fall closed. Like a pack of hunting dogs, the five warriors waited, tense and listening, for their quarry. Yamcha wondered what would happen if he threw a stick for them. 

Minutes passed and then Yamcha heard it too; a deep rhythmic thumbing. Soon, this was joined by a wavering wail and a disjointed clattering. 

Almost twenty minutes later, the car came into view. 

It was an older ground model, not at all flight capable, the paint flaking away and rusting in patches. The whole thing vibrated with the force of the music coming from inside. Some sort of gray film covered the windows, making it impossible to see through them. A little white-faced doll was strapped to the antenna and flopped back and forth with the motion of the car. 

Even from down the street, Yamcha could feel the pounding of the bass in his bones. The Saiyajin had their ears covered, faces twisted up with pain. Yamcha could only imagine how torturous this was for them. 

"Tousan, can I can blast it?" Goten yelled hopefully at his father. Goku's grimace deepened and he shook his head. 

"It'll be gone in a second," yelled Goku reassuringly. 

The car bounced its way down the road, the sheer volume of sound rendering anything resembling lyrics incomprehensible. Then, with squealing undertones, the beast began to slow and pull off alongside the curb. It came to a stop. Everyone looked at Goku. 

"Well, they have to turn the car off eventually," he said in the same confident tone. "Just be patient." 

The car door opened, emitting a thick cloud of smoke like the belch of some great dragon. A wild haired young man appeared through the haze. Then a woman, then more. Ten people in all, with a mean look to them. They arranged themselves around the car, bouncing and moving in time with the music, laughing and shouting to each other over it. 

The sound neither ended nor diminished. 

Everyone looked again at Goku. He shrugged helplessly and pressed his hands tighter to his ears. 

"That's it, I'm gutting them," Mirai Trunks said, pulling his sword from its sheath in one slick motion and moving forward purposefully. He reached the sidewalk before turning around to stare at Gohan in puzzlement. "You're not stopping me?" 

"I suppose I should," Gohan sighed, "Wait, stop. Don't harm those innocent people," he intoned with considerably less than the usual Superhero dramatics. Trunks obviously wasn't buying it. He stared walking again when Gohan made no further moves to prevent his advance. Goten and Chibi Trunks shamelessly cheered him on. 

Yamcha prodded Goku in the thigh and stretched up to say in his ear, "We should take care of this before there's a slaughter." 

Goku nodded and Yamcha moved out of his way so his could hop off the aircar. 

"I'll just ask them to turn it down," he said reasonably, pausing long enough to plant a kiss on Yamcha's shoulder. He ambled easily across the parking lot, sending Trunks back to the rest of the family while he was at it, much to the younger man's disgust. 

"Tousan does know that's a gang, right?" Gohan asked uncertainly. 

"I doubt it," said Yamcha, settling back to watch the show. 

______________ 

Chichi took several deep breaths, not to calm herself, but to make sure she would have enough oxygen for when she started screaming. Her slight irritation over being regarded as nothing more than a good cook---and really, she couldn't blame Trunks too hard, it wasn't like he'd had many other experiences with her---was more than surpassed by her fury at this man. 

Now, if Karoushi-sensei's only complaint was with the admittedly bizarre realities of aliens and people who come back from the dead, then Chichi would consider forgiving him. While she personally found it impossible for someone who'd lived in this city for more than a week to hold to onto such views, one must be sympathetic to the slow minded. However, if he said anything the least bit derogatory about her family, she would tear out his throat with her bare teeth. 

Assuming Vegeta didn't get there first. 

Noticing her agitation, Bulma patted her wrist soothingly. The blue haired woman set her son's essay on the edge of Karoushi's desk and regarded the man seriously. "I'm sorry, Mr. Karoushi, but I don't see the problem." 

Like a glacier moving across the icy tundra, so did confusion and doubt pass over his face. He stuttered out several half-formed sentences before stopping himself to gather his thoughts properly. Obviously not too bright, Chichi thought. She was beginning to have some serious misgivings about the public school system. 

"Mrs. Briefs," Mr. Karoushi said cautiously, "You would honestly tell me that there is nothing in Trunks' paper that upsets you?" 

"Nothing at all," she assured him, with all the pose that made her one of the most powerful businessmen in the world, "In fact, I'm quite relieved. Trunks knows that his home life is considered unorthodox and I've always feared that it would cause him undue stress. This," she tapped the paper, "Proves that he is comfortable enough with it to share it with others." 

"You're right!" Chichi said, swinging from borderline homicidal to cheerful with her usual ease, "I hadn't thought of that." 

She knew, and accepted, that Gohan kept his private life just that; private. Not from fear of ridicule from his fellow classmates, but simply because it wasn't any of their business. It wasn't like he interacted with them that much to begin with and Chichi couldn't care less as long as he kept his grades up. The same was true for Goten. But reading Trunks' innocently worded rendition of his less-than-socially-acceptable family gave Chichi a warm, fuzzy feeling. She only hoped her future grandchildren were as open-minded. 

(It should be noted that her eldest son being gay---and her youngest son's intentions to marry his best friend---had not dented her plans to see them siring offspring in the slightest. After all, she'd spent seventeen years with a man and bore him two children despite her preference for other women. Gohan would make her a grandmother if she had to hogtie him to do it.) 

"What's this?" Vegeta snapped, suddenly focusing on the conversation. "The brat doesn't have anything to complain about." 

"And His Highness finally decides to contribute," Chichi muttered quietly. Mr. Karoushi frowned in serious offense. 

"Mr. Vegeta, your son claims that, not only are you the prince of a dead race," the teacher said flatly, "But that you are involved in a. . .physical. . .relationship with two other men." 

"Yes, and?" Vegeta said, his voice going dark. 

Karoushi shivered involuntarily, but determinedly plowed onward. "So you admit to being engaged in a polyamorous homosexual relationship?" he said in a challenging tone. 

Vegeta opened his mouth to respond, then stopped and looked questioningly at Bulma. 

"Yes, you are," she said, amused. 

"Yes, I am," Vegeta said to Karoushi, then to Bulma in scornful amazement, "You idiots actually have *words* for it?" 

"And are you honestly telling me that you have allowed Trunks to believe you are some sort of 'alien royalty'?" Karoushi demanded before Bulma or Chichi could say anything. The man was sounding both horrified and no little disgusted at this point, causing him to overcoming the fear Vegeta's presence tended to inspire. 

"Allowed?" Vegeta snarled hotly, "I've educated the boy in his heritage since he could toddle. The same for my bond-sons. I would never permit any child of the House of Vegeta to be raised without such knowledge." 

Mr. Karoushi's mouth thinned into a tight line. "Mr. Vegeta, Mrs. Son, my I ask you to please leave the classroom? I wish to speak privately with Mrs. Briefs." 

Chichi decided instantly that she didn't like the closed look on Karoushi's face. She glanced at her lover to see a similar coldness settle over Bulma's features. Vegeta curled his lip slightly and remained unmoving as a mountain. Several tense, silent minutes passed and Karoushi's expression began to give way to slight desperation. 

Finally, Bulma said in a chill voice, "Could you two wait in the hall for me? This shouldn't take too long." 

"You sure?" Chichi asked, suspecting that she was going to miss her chance to rip this guy a new one. Maybe she should reconsider having Goten home-schooled. 

Bulma gave a short nod. 

Chichi squeezed her shoulder affectionately and stood. "It was a pleasure speaking with you, Karoushi-san," she intoned with measured politeness, "Lets go, your lordship," she continued with more strength as she grabbed onto Vegeta's upper arm. With a disgusted snort, the Saiyajin followed her out the door. 

In the hall, Vegeta leaned against the far wall with deceptive casualness. Chichi could see his simmering anger in the way his thigh muscles kept flexing and bunching. For once, Chichi was in perfect agreement with his agitation. While they didn't necessarily like each other, they did have an understanding. She knew that he was as devoted to her children as she was to his and he knew that Super-Saiyajin or not, she'd make him regret it if he hurt Goku in any way, shape, or form. Neither tolerated any suggestion of offense toward their mutual loved ones. 

Letting out huff, Chichi tapped her foot impatiently and strained to hear the faint murmurs coming from the classroom. 

Time passed. From the growing black rage on Vegeta's face, the conversation was not going well. Eventually, even Chichi heard a clear "Thank you for your time, Karoushi-san." 

Moments later, Bulma pushed open the door, wearing the same iron hard mask of professionalism Chichi had seen when attending shareholder meetings that could make or break the future of Capsule Corp. Lifting eyes that burned like the blue heart of a gas flame, Bulma said softly, "Your turn, Vegeta." 

He smiled. Right then, Chichi was reminded why her ex-husband had once feared this man. 

Bulma moved out of the prince's way and took Chichi's hand. "Come my love, we don't need to hear this." 

"I take it his opinions were less than complimentary," Chichi asked dryly as they fell in step. 

"To say the least," Bulma said sardonically, her tight expression relaxing somewhat. "I'd understand if he didn't believe the rest, but the things he said about----" she cut off and shook her head, sucking in a deep breath. "I don't want to talk about it right now. I just want to spend the day at the beach with my boys and forget this ever happened." 

A frightened wail echoed down the corridor. 

Bulma smiled faintly. "Lord but I love that man." 

__________________ 

Upon walking out the school's front entrance, the two women were greeted with a most unexpected sight. 

Several adolescents and young adults in dark, baggy clothing with matching jackets now occupied the parking lot. 

Three of them were in the middle of card game with Goten and Trunks the younger and appeared to be losing badly. Four others were cheering Yamcha and Gohan on through a martial arts demonstration. Two more and Mirai Trunks were visible from the waist down under a beat up old car. From the various tools and parts scattered around them, they were doing some extensive---and possible illegal---modifications to the old hunk. Someone had dug a fire pit into the cement and Goku was roasting something suspiciously dog-like over the flames, while the last strange youth lounged in the doorway of *Bulma's* aircar, smoking and nodding his head time with the rock music coming from inside. 

"Or," Chichi said mildly, "We could leave them to fend for themselves and have a quiet lunch in a nearby café instead." 

They looked at each other and, with joint sighs of defeat, go to join the chaos. 

_________________ 

End! 

For those of you interested in this sort of thing---- 

Karoushi is Japanese for "overworked to death", while Omaru means "chamber pot". 


	2. Briefs Family To Do List

**Briefs Family To Do List**

**Note:** This is set in the same universe as "My Family by Briefs Trunks", hence why I'm putting it as a second chapter, but it's more of a stand alone than a continuation.

Please see the previous chapter for notes and warnings. This should not be taken seriously AT ALL.

All comments and criticism appreciated. Thanks for checking this out!

* * *

**1) Wake up and start the day**

Pale sunlight shone through the half-covered window, slowly rousing Mirai Trunks from his slumber. He turned over, away from its evil glow, and nestled deeper into the snuggly warmth that surrounded him. He didn't like mornings. They were best spent sleeping. Or, if you simply had to be awake, doing something acrobatic with the right partner. After several minutes of trying to return to his former state of oblivion, Trunks gave up and began probing into the tangle of blankets.

Firm, satiny skin soon met his seeking hand and he grinned sleepily into the pillow. He wiggled closer to his bedmate, pressing himself into that delightfully warm body and nuzzling a fragrant neck. Gohan murmured indistinctly at the attention.

"Hmm?" Trunks said playful, cuddling even further into his lover and wrapping his arms around Gohan's broad chest. His fingers traced over rippling muscles, playing lightly with the pale hairs that graced his lover's arms. A slow heat rose through his body, fueled by daydreams of all the ways they could spend their day. In bed, of course. Who needs classes and training anyways? He chuckled contentedly and nestled his leg between brawny thighs, feeling Gohan's erection press into his hip.

"Mmmm..." Gohan answered back softly, entering the realm of the conscious by degrees. He squirmed under Trunks' warm weight, providing a pleasant bit of friction. The older man made a happy noise and nibbled on Gohan's tempting shoulders. Okay, so this was much better than sleeping.

Two hands buried themselves deep in his hair and hauled him up for a toe-curling kiss. Oh, yes, yes. A hot tongue swept into his mouth, brushing over the sensitive inside of his lower lip and sending shivers up his spine. He stroked it with his own tongue, a wet, heated slide, and felt his lover respond in kind. Gohan was unspeakably good with his mouth; that was the first thing Trunks had learned when he finally got the younger demi-saiyajin as his own. Small wonder Videl had been so determined to keep her hooks in him.

Not that she ever stood a chance.

Trunks grinned smugly against Gohan's heated lips. There was a fond memory. Up until that point getting what he wanted had always been a straightforward affair for Trunks. In a world devastated by killer androids, with limited government and no police force to speak off, theft had been a fairly standard way of getting what you needed to survive. Want, take. Even the noble Gohan-sensei stole when necessary, though he didn't like it.

But Videl had been a problem. Trunks couldn't kill her---not that he hadn't considered it---and Gohan squirmed too much to simply cart away like the machine parts he used to nab for his mother. So, he'd been forced to use other tactics. Physical torture had always been something Trunks found extremely distasteful; mental torture on the other hand, was something he apparently had a gift for. Not to mention how much freaking fun it was.

Trunks was distracted from his amusement by the sudden southward migration of Gohan's hand. His brain just sort of dissolved for while after that.

"Good morning, blue eyes," Gohan said later, lazily tonguing his fingers clean. Trunks burbled something vaguely greeting-like in reply. Gohan chuckled softly, the dark gleam in his eye doing dangerous things to Trunks' slowly returning higher functions. "Sleep well?"

"Mmrgh. . ."

"Me too," Gohan purred, and suddenly flipped them over in a flurry of sheets and blankets. Trunks yelped and then laughed at his own surprise. Gohan wedged himself between eagerly parted thighs, grinning like the cat that had just cleaned out the bird shop and was now going after the fish store down the street. "I had the most entertaining dream last night. . ."

"Oh?" Trunks breathed, sliding his legs up around Gohan's trim hips and gasping softly.

"Yes, you were laid out on the bed...naked...covered in canned peaches..."

Trunks couldn't help a fit of giggles. "You and food..."

Things were just starting to get interesting again when the most hated sound in the world rang out over the room intercom.

"Gohan-chan! Trunks-kun! Are you up yet?!"

A groan of protest echoed out from the named parties. Gohan buried his face in the pillow next to Trunks' head and sighed in frustration. That settled it, Trunks decided, soon as he got his limbs working again the woman was toast. Grumbling shockingly explicit obscenities under his breath, Gohan pushed himself up to press the respond button on the panel above the bed. Trunks stopped him.

"No, no," he whispered urgently, "Maybe if we lie real still and quiet, she'll think we're dead and move on."

Gohan snorted. "You're underestimating my mother," he said, letting his hand drop from the wall to skim along the side of Trunks' face. Eyes like a starless night gazed down at him with quiet worship as powerful fingers traced the tender arch of his jaw, causing Trunks' chest to swell with a feeling almost too great for bone and flesh to contain.

For this he had forsaken his former life, leaving his mother's legacy in the hands of others.

No decision is without sacrifice and some part of him still longed for the blighted 'future' world that he'd fought so long and hard to save. But he'd made his choice when he destroyed the time machine once and for all, when he realized that his happiness was here, in the arms of the man above him.

Besides, what moron would chose a potential future as a bachelor over a lifetime of pounding Gohan's sweet ass?

"Get up you two! If I have to go up there and drag your naked backsides out of bed----"

Cries of horror. Both remembered the last time Chichi had made good on that particular threat. The rest of the family had yet to let them live it down. Gohan nearly cracked the wall in his rush to turn the intercom on. "We'll be down in a few minutes!" he informed the metallic grid.

"Good, breakfast is ready," Chichi said in a much sweeter voice, "Trunks-kun, could you get the boys for me? I sent them up to get dressed almost half an hour ago."

Trunks freed one hand from the bedding to salute the unseen Chichi.

"He'll be happy too, mom," said Gohan wryly, disconnecting the line. "So, wanna run away to the mountains with me?"

The lavender haired man groaned, covering his eyes. "It wouldn't work. We'll think we've found the perfect hiding spot and the next day your mom with show up wanting to make sure you have enough clean underwear."

"Or your father will wake us up in the middle of the night for some endurance training," Gohan countered, rolling off the bed and yelping as his feet hit the cold floor. Trunks uncovered his eyes to watch his lover walk around naked, that honey-brown tail brushing lightly over perfectly formed thighs.

He leered, turning onto his side to lounge suggestively on the bed. "Hey sweetness, why don't you bring that tight ass of yours back over here and---aaack!"

Denim jeans thrown at terminal velocity can be surprisingly painful.

* * *

2) Get kids dressed and off to school.

Trunks' nose was still smarting as he stepped out the door.

He didn't get very far when a damp blue cat came flying around the corner. Trunks moved back just in time to avoid being hit as Puar went screaming past. Seconds later, an equally moist and suds splattered Yamucha came charging after him, yelling all the while.

"...going to kill you! Come on Puar! It's just a fucking bath! If you didn't----morning Trunks----make such a big deal about it..."

Yamucha ran out of sight, the sound of his voice fading behind him. Trunks sighed and headed down the way they'd come, scratching lightly at his scalp. The boys' rooms were one level below Trunks and Gohan's. He plodded down the stairs to them, titling his head to hear the sounds of activity coming from the bottom floor. It was louder than normal this morning. His mother probably had her assistants over as they prepared for the conference later today.

Trunks found the door to his alternate-self's bedroom open and peered inside.

Chibi Trunks sat stark naked in the middle of a battlefield of action figures and authentic replica model warships. His hair was still wet from a recent shower and a towel lay in a crumpled heap behind him. He didn't notice Mirai's presence, deeply involved in talking his troops through a tricky maneuver.

Mirai Trunks folded his arms and leaned against the doorframe, watching as two big-busted female warriors joined a male fighter wearing a loincloth in an assault against a battleship armed with tactical nukes. The three heroes seemed to have the advantage.

After a while, Mirai Trunks said wryly, "Weren't you supposed to be getting dressed?"

The younger boy's head jerked up in surprise and he gave his big brother a decent imitation of their father's scowl. "I am," he shot back defensively.

"I can tell," Trunks said sarcastically, "Leave the toys and put some clothes on kiddo, breakfast is ready." As Trunks had suspected, the mention of food got the nine-year-old moving.

Chibi Trunks lunged to his feet and dashed to the large dresser holding his absurd amount of clothing. "Hey, shut the door! I need some privacy," he ordered when Trunks continued to loiter in the doorway.

"You're been sitting here nude all this time and you want privacy for putting your clothes on?" Trunks asked in disbelief.

"Get out!"

"All right, all right," he said, waving his hands in surrender and kicking the door shut. He hoped to hell he hadn't been weird like that as a kid. Time to check on the other brat.

Goten's room was a little further down the hall. Mirai Trunks knocked lightly on the door, pushing it open when a faint mumble sounded from inside.

Goten sat on his bed and was, unlike his older cohort, completely dressed except for a sock he held loosely in one hand. His free hand was pressed against the side of his head, twisting as he dug the heel of it into his ear. His eyes had a slightly glazed look to them, like he'd just crawled out of the pit of sleep and would like to return at the earliest possible convenience, thank you.

Frowning, Trunks walked in and pulled Goten's hand away from his ear. "Leave it alone."

"It hurts," Goten said in a frustrated whine.

"You've probably got another infection," Trunks said with a sigh.

Goten's face twisted up. "Yuck. More ear drops."

"That's the way it goes when you've got such sensitive ears," Trunks said, ruffling the boy's wild spikes. Though Goten's hair didn't seem to grow as fast as Gohan's did, the dark mass was already starting sag down against his neck as it gained in length and weight. "Come on, let's head downstairs and eat before all the food is gone."

Goten nodded and yawned. He tugged on the one remaining sock, but paused before sliding off the bed, nose twitching. He cocked his head curiously. "Have a nice morning with niisan?"

Trunks felt himself blush and forced a scowl instead. "Yes," he admitted cautiously, "But that's not for you to be asking about."

Goten grinned cheekily. He bounced off the bed with a sudden influx of energy and grabbed Trunks' large hand in his small, chubby ones. "I'm glad you're here. Trunks-san makes Gohan-niisan happy and Gohan-niisan makes Trunks-san happy. I like that."

His smile softened and he added, "I'm still too young, but someday I want to make Trunks-kun happy like that. Ah, Trunks-kun!"

Like a blast of wind, Goten released him and zipped out the door. Seconds later, he was yelling food related threats at the younger Trunks through the still closed door.

Mirai stared after him before slapping a hand to his face. "The corruption starts so young..."

* * *

3) Eat a healthy, well-balanced breakfast

"...shit eating rat bastard son of a lame donkey and a desperate pig, mother fucking scum sucker..."

"Bulma-san, please! We still have a enough time to correct the diagrams," Bulma's assistant

Oraganiza said desperately as she followed her ranting employer around the table.

"We spent months testing out these designs," Bulma continued without missing a beat, arms slashing at the air around her, "We proved it over and over again; the secondary reinforcement grid is a fucking necessity. And he edits it out because of cost effectiveness? Who the hell gave this moron the authority to do that?"

"Um, you did, Bulma-san," came a timid voice from the pack of lackeys gathered at one end of the dinning room, "As part of the Cost Reduction Plan."

Bulma turned on them instantly and they took a collective step backwards, plastering their backs to the wall.

"I hired him," she said in a low voice, "Because someone,"---a dark haired lackey scrunched down behind his taller fellows---"gave me the impression that he was a competent individual who understood Capsule Corp's devotion to quality. Having been proven wrong, it seems I'm going to have to rectify the problem...on both ends!" she added in a growl, earning several whimpers.

"What have I been telling you Bulma?" Vegeta demanded from where he sat at the table, "Underlings work so much more effectively if you torture them every now and then." He gazed thoughtfully at the unfortunate souls, as if mentally mapping out where to stick the sharp pointy objects so as to produce the best screams, and continued to stuff noodles into his mouth.

"He doesn't mean that seriously," Goku said to the group, laughing far too nervously to be comforting. Vegeta snorted at him, then growled warningly when Oraganiza came too close his food.

"Good employees shouldn't have to be tortured," Bulma snapped, but the look in her eye showed she was seriously contemplating the suggestion. Several of the other lackeys began to inch away from the dark-haired one, hoping to go unnoticed should her wrath become unleashed upon him.

"Bulma-san, what's important now is that we get the report changed and the diagrams fixed and reprinted," Oraganiza said in a firm, calm voice. Bulma frowned at her but nodded, taking a deep breath.

"You're right," she admitted, "Okay you lot, you know what you're supposed to do, now MOVE!" The lackeys jumped as a solid unit and ran for the nearest escape route. "You have twenty minutes!" Bulma yelled after them.

The door to the kitchen pushed open and Chichi stuck her head in. "What's all this yelling about? Ah, Bulma-sa, have you eaten yet?" she asked, quickly switching to the more important subject.

Bulma winced guiltily, which was all the information Chichi needed. Following the younger woman's imperiously pointed finger, Bulma sat in the chair next to Goku and allowed Chichi to fix a heaping plate for her.

From the stair well came the rapid thwap-thwap of descending feet. Goten was running into the dinning room seconds later, fast followed by a scowling chibi Trunks with his shirt on backwards. The younger boy wasted no time in sliding under the table and attaching himself leech-like to his father's legs.

"I win!" he yelled, pressing the side of his face into Goku's knee. Goku reached under the table to ruffle his hair.

"You still have to share the odango, Goten," Trunks said irritably, bending over to frown at his friend.

"Na-huh, I got downstairs first, so I get them all!"

"I never agreed to that!"

Mirai Trunks walked in, calling out a polite "Good morning" over the boys' arguing. He dropped into the chair next to his father while Chichi dragged Goten out from under the table.

"Brat," Vegeta snapped, causing all three demi-saiyajin to turn to him obediently, "You missed training this morning."

Realizing that he was the 'brat' currently being addressed, Mirai Trunks blinked in surprise. "You know I don't start training until after Gohan leaves for work."

"Exactly," Vegeta said as if this were the greatest crime imaginable. He glared with such force it was a wonder Trunks didn't burst into the flames.

Trunks unconsciously scrunched down in his chair. "Okay."

Vegeta nodded and looked satisfied, going back to his breakfast. Goku looked around his lover's broad shoulders and said consolingly, "We'll wake you and Gohan up for it tomorrow."

As if Trunks hadn't told them months ago that they preferred to spend that time together.

He sighed. Those mountains were starting to look real good right about now.

* * *

4) Leave for work on time.

It was one of those days when everyone left the house all at once.

Goku and Vegeta collected Yamucha and the disgusted Puar for some after-breakfast training on a distant island (Trunks had to talk fast to convince them not to drag him along); Goten and Trunks the younger left for school (with much fussing and wails of despair); Chichi and her two assistants (students from the local culinary institute that Bulma hired to help with the workload of feeding six saiyajin) went shopping; and finally Gohan headed out to teach his morning classes.

Trunks had intended to accompany Gohan to the school before getting to his own duties at Capsule Corp., but he was stopped on his way out the door by a perfectly manicured hand on his arm.

"Trunks, I have a favor to ask you," his mother said, in her sweetest, most eyelash-fluttering way. He was instantly suspicious. "You know the Tamachi project?"

"Yes," he said slowly, eyeing her, "I was going to work on that today."

"Well..." she continued, "I need it by two o'clock this afternoon."

Trunks' jaw dropped. "There's no way! You're talking over two hundred pages of raw data that still needs to be complied and summarized! I need at least ten hours to—"

"It doesn't have to be perfect!" she interrupted him, waving her arms about in a gesture probably intended to be soothing, "I just need a couple pages to share at the board meeting."

He let out frustrating groan and swiped pale hair back from his forehead, giving the lingering a Gohan a pleading look. His lover just shrugged, helpless and bemused.

"Come pick me up after class," Gohan said, "We'll go out or something, just the two of us.

"Yay!" Bulma cheered, darting between the two boys to give each a kiss, as if Gohan's words were as good as a 'yes' from Trunks.

Which, Trunks acknowledged with a surge of mild annoyance, they essentially were. He loved Gohan desperately, but sometimes he wished the other saiya-jin wasn't quite so compromising and understanding of everyone else's wants. Especially when it meant Trunks had to be compromising and understanding too.

"Thank you so much," his mother said gratefully, taking a hold of his wrist to lead him back inside. He gave Gohan a forlorn, injured look, but the traitorous bastard just laughed it off and blew him a kiss before flying away.

The closing door cut off the sight with a solid click. He sighed and shook off Bulma's hand, following her back to their private workrooms and laboratory. The one he usually used held a full computer array and a coffee machine wedged in a corner behind piles of spare equipment and partially completed projects. She leaned over his desk to key up the required reports, turquoise covered behind swaying back and forth jauntily.

"There we go," she said, punctuating each word with a practical tap on the keyboard. A cascade of document windows dominated both of his dual monitors, hiding the far more attractive desktop backgrounds of Gohan dressed entirely in ribbons. "I owe you one, sweetie," she added, planting another kiss on his cheek and spinning away.

"Yeah, yeah," he said, a faint smile at the corner of his mouth despite himself. It sucked, but it made his mother happy, so he couldn't complain too hard about it.

Well he could, but whining got you no where with Bulma. Either you yelled and bashed your way out of the nearest wall to freedom – which really only worked if you enjoyed spending the next two months sleeping on the ground and hunting dinosaurs for dinner, hence why it was his father's favorite mode of avoidance – or you bowed your head and did what you were told.

He slid into his chair with a sigh and automatically reached over to turn on the coffee pot while he was at it. It came to life with a worrisome rattle.

"I'll send my assistant over to collect it one-thirty! Bye!" Bulma said, her jewel bright nail polish glittering in the fluorescent lights as she waved her goodbye. Silence echoed in the lab in the wake of her departure.

Trunks stretched out his fingers and got to work.

* * *

Partial THE END. 


End file.
